It’s my fault Sylvie ended up here.
“Your majesty?” she asks weakly. Of course. She doesn’t know who I am without Soren’s mask.
“Someone has been looking for you,” I say. I feel Sylvie urge me to let her see. “We found her,” I whisper as I hold her up.
There are eight shadow-born in all. The three we knew were missing, and another five that we didn’t. And gods know what else we’ll find here and in the Guild when we return.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I say as Taran hobbles in, clutching at his side. I heal him quickly; the wound is shallow. He tries to carry Sylvie for me, but I won’t let him.
We make our way back through the narrow halls and into an awaiting carriage in the alley. Sylvie lifts her head slightly as we approach it, and I sigh in immense relief at her movement.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
But I don’t know if I can really promise her that. I’m the reason she was here tonight. Zara came after her to get to me. She must have been watching, waiting for this opportunity to strike.
And she’s far from my only enemy.
“Ronan,” she groans out, her voice barely more than a whisper. I feel her fear. She must have sensed my feelings about endangering her. She’s worried that I’m going to leave her.
I should. I should at least consider it, consider what’s best for her.
She is screaming at me with her feelings. The feeling is so strong, I can almost hear her voice in my mind. “Don’t you dare,” she’s saying. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
“I’m here, Sylvie. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Gods, I don’t think I could if I tried. And I hate myself for it. I hate how selfish it is. I hate the way that it strengthens my magic to admit it to myself, to her. To admit that I’m going to keep her as close to me as I can, no matter the consequences for us both.
I can’t let her go.
I hold her in my arms and press my light into her skin through my hands, gripping her as tightly as I can. I don’t thinkshe’s in pain, but I hope the light soothes her. I hope it comforts her.
I whisper soothing words to her, my lips on her forehead, in her hair. My hands stroking her back. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m here. I won’t let you go.” I whisper them over and over as the carriage takes us home.
As I carry Sylvie into the palace, she croaks out another word at me. “Bath.”
I can’t say I blame her for asking. Her dress is soaked in her blood, and her hair and body are filthy from the cellar floor.
But I’m ashamed to admit that my own body responds to her request. I know I shouldn’t want to see her naked in this state, but it’s hard to forget what we were doing before all of this happened.
And it’s even harder when she starts feeling things at me again. Wicked, wonderful things.
“Should I get a servant?” I ask. They’re busy replacing all the candles in the entire palace, but it’s the polite thing to do, to offer to let a servant bathe her. The gentlemanly thing to do.
I don’t want to be polite.
“No,” she says, shaking her head to the side a tiny bit. “You.”
With fucking pleasure.
I carry her down the stairs into my private bathing chambers. There’s a large copper basin that I use when I’m too dirty to enter the natural pools, and I ask the servants to fill it while I tend to her.
I place her on a bench with a towel beneath her. Her feelings are begging me to undress her, to hold her, to kiss her again, and fuck, I want to. “You have no idea how fucking badly I want to.”
But I can’t do it, not while she can’t respond to me.
“I promise I’ll give you everything you want,” I say to her. “But not until you can move on your own. Not until you can feel it with your body as well as your mind.”
Her mouth pouts a little at the corners. I want to kiss the smile back onto her face.
